The Five Point Compass
by Jaulli Bass
Summary: This is a continuance of the movie, 5 years latter. Arthur has split his kindgom between his remaining 5 Sarmatian knights.. The story has begun to pick up! Corsairs, Intruders, Betrayal, Death and Love! please review!
1. Default Chapter

So as you can guess, I do not take credit for King Arthur and his peoples... I give that credit to history! And the movie company but only reluctantly...So please review and this is more of a preview... I'm working on it!! AH this is my first fic...

Set five years after the war of the Hadrian Wall. King Arthur now resides over all of England with the round table still as his center of command. His original five Sarmatian knights still with him, now lords too, to help rule the five ends of a country; north, west, east, south and central. Of course only in their own pockets of land. The five lords of King Arthur, following his orders and providing their council to and with him in the center London. Still at this time, they power, and the people are scattered and unorganized. Arthur, being the idealistic gentleman of always, requests his knights to make the census of the kingdom and to know his allies, to help it expand and prosper now, and to protect it foremost.

King Arthur sat in the governing room, the room with the legendary round table, next to his closest and wisest confidant, Merlin. They sat with the map of England infront of them, and small figures representing numbers in armies and ships, keeping aware of the events in the now quickly deteriorating Roman Empire due to line after line of poor emperors. To them, as Britain and the Roman Empire, the biggest threat was becoming the barbarians of the north, however, this predominately concerned the East of the empire. Merlin and Arthur avidly discussed this situation of the Empire they both knew and loathed. They talked about the wars and the history, Antony and Cleopatra's Egypt, Hannibal's war elephants, the Huns of the East, and the insane emperor Nero.

Galahad, Gawain, Lancelot, Tristan, Boars and Dag. The six legendary knights. Lancelot now dead after the fatal fight for freedom. Dag and Tristan healed, slowly, unluckily, tetanus shots, or any shot of anything were readily available at this time, meaning no cures, no heroin and no tequila, point being that Dag's right arm was amputated. Lancelot's body was burned and his ashes thrown to the eastern wind, but that his sole every really left the island, was to be wondered for although his front showed thorough spite and hate for the rock, it would be seemed that part of him would always be there. The pendant which he wore on his neck was worked into his tomb, which lay tribute to him in the new castle, Camelot.

Smaller dukes and earls of course spotted the lands, but the remaining Sarmatian knights were made to be their rulers in part. Galahad in the center, Gawain in the west, Tristan in the North, Boars in the South and Dag in the east.

Galahad of the Center District, was still young in his heart. He roamed socially throughout the many cities and villages abound, and was often closest to Arthur's side and order. He kept no family, though many mistresses, though even more young ladies vied for his attention that made it to call on him at his home. His home being a modest chalet on a hill, he spent most of his time at Camelot. His first errand was to collect the many great and famous literature and to bind them in a royal library. His second and most taxing of all, became to organize the Doomsday Book.

Gawain in the west was much taken to the rocky islands and cool seas of the Atlantic. He set up many strategic ports, and made his own home on a rocky outcrop overlooking a large bay, latter to become Britain's largest on said coast. Although he claimed to want a beautiful Sarmatian woman, he married a French gentelwoman of the name of Antoinette. Although marrying her, he did not love her, not much, nor did he find her attractive, not much, especially finding out that she had married him just for escape from a right and just punishment of jealous murder of her eldest sibling in the east. He quickly fell in love with a dark Roman woman to which even Arthur could not even deny their happiness together. His true wife quickly became mad and he had her locked in a tower, called the Roman Tower. The Roman Tower was one of two extremely tall towers, named so because it was rumored that from there, one could see the reaches of the Roman Empire at the French coast, driving her even more mad in self pity from remember what she should never have done. In her depression, she legendarily set herself alight with fire and attempted to burn down the mostly stone building. This of course greatly upset Gawain because he was quite lucky to have an estate such as this compared to many a men of more importance and money than him who lived quite sensibly in smaller manors.

Tristan in the North, wandered mostly through the moors and never was one to stay long in his small castle on the mountaintop. He found that, even though the weather was less than pleasant less than he would hope for than anywhere else in England, the stone castle was always much colder than even the north wind. He would take no wife, for many a women pursued him, though none interested him in the slightest bit. He found that the women he seemed to attract were ignorant boring creatures, only interested in whether he was agreeable, how much money he pulled a year, and his natural disposition and position. So, most of his time was spent scouting the small nomadic settlements for young protégées and prospective allies and loyal fighters. Easily did he take to the civilities and ways of these people, that it was most pressed by the groups, that their brightest and best, would study and serve under him.

Boars of the South was happily settled, finally married and was now with thirteen children, much to his wife's superstitious dislikes and the awe of others. He set up the South to encourage its trade and agricultural prosperity by within his settlement creating a central market for all. His small castle in the centre, and five miles all around on the hill created a central hub and city. Filled with taverns and hotels, it attracted people from all over the South. It was protected by a service of his own men, and a circular wall encompassing it. To the South, many people from England and the Empire came to gain and create their own wealth. A large Greek population, migrated from the Roman rule, made refugee on the tip of the South, and made between Boars the connection to their heathen god of wine and party, Diogynys.

Dag of the East ruled most quietly. He was the ruler of the coast, and most people were fishermen. He encouraged use of the natural rivers to bring their ware inland, and set up many a famous lights along the coastline. He lived peacefully in a house in the middle of the central town and port. Under his watch he raised the boy Lucan, in warfare, education, principle and most important to Dag, the ability to swim. Dag himself was taught by a local fishing family and then married their daughter. He himself was never one to travel out on the rough and perilous English Channel in a boat although he found the nautical education quite interesting. Had he not been raised to fight, he surely would have been raised to fish he thought.

Ok I promise that something will happen... I'm just setting the mood. Think of those summaries of as how the characters have developed in the five years following the war. I promise SOMETHING will happen!!!!!!!!!!!


	2. Chapter 1

Ok so now things will actually start to get a plot going!! Wahoo score for me... this is by far the most committed I've ever been to any story of mine... I don't have the attention span.

Galahad and Arthur sat at the round table, contemplating whether the anniversary ball for King Arthur and Queen Guinevere should be themed or not. They finally decided on a masked ball set for in four fortnights, leaving time for preparations and invitations. The Royal Scholar sat at a small, rectangular table to the side, and was preparing the list of invitees; the many lords, friends, knights, and other important people who if not invited would show up anyways but with instead of gifts, they would bring swords.

"It will be quite pleasant to see all of my knights together again. How empty this table always seems with just my local knights around. I greatly wish that there never was a need to send any of them away. Dragons in the South, Pirates in the East, its quite a wonder that you and I can stay here without going bored out of our minds." Mused Arthur.

"Yes well you do get quite bored of socializing after some time. I wish to be with some of the other lords, when you hear about their adventures and trials, it of course reminds me of the old times." Responded Galahad.

At this Arthur frowned, "The old times were horrible good knight. One could never wish for that again. It was all wrong, now we are free."

"Are we really free? We cannot do what we really want, which is to ride away and find adventure; you for you are king, and I, for you are my king. I recon Tristan must be quite free, we have not heard from him for the longest time. Such a pity, he had wonderful prose."

"Ha ha. Yes he did. We certainly must have him come to this ball. Oddly, none of the messengers sent to him, never returned, as I would guess is his way of 'graciously' declining my invitations. I know what! You must ride to the north, and must bid him to meet with me, even if he will not attend my ball. Alas, another quest and another empty seat, but you should leave to' morrow at dawn, I still have other knights whom I can converse with."

"My king, I shall do as you wish." Complied Galahad with a quick bow before exiting the chamber.

Chapter Two preview... like summary ish thing... will have to do with Boars and Dagonet and dare I say it... Corsairs from the Mediterranean!!!


	3. Chapter 2

I now present the next chapter!!! Thank you so much for my two reviews... two reviews and counting I hope! Hahaha.... Yes well the story seems very disconnected right now... but it will come together... hopefully in a good way... although I'm not saying the ending will be happy good... just good as in writing.... Riiiiiiight so I just lost myself in that one...... So without further ado and rambling on my behalf!!!... I present the next chapter! Dun Dun Dun!

Lord Boars and his company sat in a large banquet hall, laughing, eating and dancing enough to fill their every delight. Outside was a storm of thunder, lightning and cold hard rain, but inside the large fireplace kept the room and its occupants and a healthy glow.

As the music was playing faster and the dancers spinning yet more so, at the climax of noise and emotion the large oak doors swung open. The musicians stopped playing and the dancers fell out of step. The gregarious men and women stopped chatting of the local gossip and for the first time in the evening the wine lay untouched.

A puddle of water slowly moved from the dark shadow of the door. The water ran in between the cracks of the stone floor. A soaping wet person in a cloak that was once green stepped into the light of the fire.

He fell to his knees, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh", he yelled. He pounded his fist against the stone, "They're gone. They're dead. They took everything. They're dead." he said softly.

Boars slowly rose in his chair, "What... What has happened? What is wrong? Quickly someone get him a chair by the fire! Dry clothes! Drink! Let the stranger tell us of him and his woes!"

The stranger sat facing the fire, yet with his eyes turned up. He had a young handsome face, with mild brown hair, green eyes, and sunned skin. He was tall and well built, only of the age of twenty and five. "My name is Christopher Darcy. I am from a small town, the Town of the Twin Rivers. It is a beautiful town, of shire and estates. Yesterday morning, at dawn, before the workers had risen, we were attacked by the most horrible men of all. They were corsairs; washed away from the Mediterranean to our peaceful lands. They came so quietly, and murdered men in their sleep. I had been having trouble sleeping, so I had been walking throughout the grounds, just observing the rising sun. I should have known as soon as I had seen it, it was a red sun. I should have gone back. I could have saved them. Alas, by the time I retuned, they were all dead. My lovely bride to be, my mother, my father, my three younger sisters, and the stable hands..."he paused to find the words"The stairs ran with blood. I rode to the neighbor's, I rode to our lord, I rode to the docks, and now I have ridden to you my lord." concluded Mr. Darcy. His eyes now fell towards Lord Boars, "You must help us. You must help me. You must save us from the corsairs. They will come for more lives and more gold. They will come for me." Christopher's eyes had now glazed over and he seemed to float, barely touching his chair.

"This man is delirious. Quickly get the healers and set him in a room." decided Boars, "There will be a council, now. Send out for the Lords of the South, we will meet in the Green Room.", ordered Boars as he swept off to his personal chambers with a frown upon his brow, leaving his guests to find their own way home.

In three days a council of the Lords of the South was assembled. There, in the Green Room sat seven lords to the South, including Boars, a scribe, and the now well rested, but overly subdued Mr. Darcy.

Soooooo what will happen you ask?? Well I'm not quite totally sure yet... but the next chapter will have to do with Tristan... I figure they have to rotate, you know, equal time and whatever. I think Galahad and Tristan will meet up in the wild forests of the north ooo scary, no night lights there, just monsters!!! Haha


	4. Chapter 3

This is my fourth chapter!! Uh but its called chapter 3... odd... hmm ok I'm on a roll now... looking at a chapter a day, pretty good I think! Any suggestions are greatly appreciated, I wan to incorporate something with magic... but I just need to rack my brain for something magical and preferably original... I'm figuring out everything impossible, here comes my Nobel prize for philosophy (the uh non-existent one that is...)!!!

Tristan road up the dirt path through the tall pine trees on his gray horse. Up in the distance, a league or so ahead of him he saw a lone rider. Most were not foolish enough, or brave enough, to ride alone in these parts. He quickly summed up that the rider must be a foreigner, and thought it best to warn him, or at least to ride from a safe distance and watch him.

As Tristan quietly approached him, he realized, first to his disbelief, then to his horror, that the rider was in fact Sir Galahad. His initial reaction had been disbelief for he had not seen nor heard from his old companion for five years, and was then horrified at the manner in which he road. It was no longer the manner to which warriors or messengers rode their horses, but he had adopted the mannerisms of a nobleman in riding, which was painfully slow and even more painful to the rider to be sure, although it was supposed to make the appearance of well-breading, importance etc. Tristan simply raised an eyebrow to this and figured that it was a thought more likely to be of a nobleman shocked at the change of a once peasant. Tristan grinned at this. Indeed these were not thoughts he should have of his old friend.

Tristan quickly caught up to Galahad.

"Good sir, do you not know what land you travel on. You must have the permission, nay protection of the Lord of the North."

Galahad quickly turned; hand on sword, to face his old friend. "Tristan! I mean my Lord!" Galahad's face quickly broke into a wide smile at this, "My apologies to be sure, but I carry a letter for this Lord himself. Please bid I pass; it must be delivered right to his very jewel covered hands!"

The jest continued with Tristan's reply, "I believe I shall fight you for it then! I shall have that letter or I shall have your head with it!" threatened Tristan as he jumped swiftly off his horse and brandished his sword in the vicinity of Galahad.

"Sire, I must profess that you enjoy to kill more than the normal man. Your sanguine amounts must be quite black." Said Galahad as he too dismounted and drew his sword.

"A very graceful dismount, for an even more graceful rider, but sir, will your graceful ways save you from my steel?"

"I do believe that they shall! I shall dance ever so gracefully in circles around you, and then I shall dance with a graceful lady too on your grave!"

Galahad then deteriorated into fits of laughter and Tristan's lips slowly formed an amused smile. .

"It has been too long Galahad." said Tristan, patting his friend on the shoulder, as the first to recover, "Now let me see this letter. Finally I have the satisfaction of receiving a letter after all these years!"

"What! You mean to say that you have not received one letter since we last met!"

"Not one to be certain."

"Have you been hidden in this wilderness for such scores of years?"

"Scores! Nay! I am not that old am I? Perhaps it is since I have not cut my beard for so long." Said Tristan as he stroked his scruffy brown beard, digressing into the making of a mental note to get a nice clean shave.

"I have sent you many letters!, Invitations!, Addresses!"

"Nonsense! No one has remembered me. I meet my messenger only two fortnights at the watchtower, not one letter has come for me! I was forgotten long ago and as your looks have faded, so has your memory of me!" Said Tristan calmly.

"Something is amiss Tristan, for one can surely not forget you easily, especially if one wishes to." Said Galahad now jesting again, "And I assure you that I will not quickly forget that pick on my looks!"

"We must return to Norhelen Castle at once. Let us ride quickly, and let you ride like a knight. I cannot believe that that is at all comfortable."

Galahad made a grimace at the last remark, to pretend offense, "Well even if I arrive a fortnight after you, at least I will look good doing it! Ha!"

I just realized how short my chapters are, but I think that's ok... attention span thing soooo... lol... easier to read! Ok so I've come up with an explanation to that now what else... Thank-you to my reviewers!!! I'm happy people like it!! I'm even happier that people are reading it! Next chapter will be about Dagonet.


	5. Chapter 4

Ah I've decided I have to research for this, I want it to be good, and as uh plausible as I can do... don't expect too much though haha!!! Could someone tell me who is Isolde??? I'm hoping that I'm not missing an important character.... To all the fanatics I might sound like a tard, but don't hate me for it, uh its more a learning experience... that's what I said when I got suspended from high school sooo it's a good enough excuse. :D

Dagonet sat with a marine merchant in the dimly lit Admiral's Pub on Neptune's Row. The marine merchant was Mr. Eton, who ran the shipping company Wislon & Bloom, but to the locals it was called Cheerful Credit. The man had ran many unwise businessmen or business-hopefuls or business-suckers into the slums of town and a many wise ones with that too. Dag knew however that he would not swindle him however. He had carefully planned out his arrangement and every possible outcome. He knew Mr. Eton too wise and that he would remember the line 'Daren't kill the goose that lays the golden eggs!' Dealings with Mr. Eton were however not necessary; there were a fair number of other merchants. One such that he particularly disliked, much like the rest, but that he had actually particularly remembered was a Mr. Woolwich. He was one of those merchants who were always trying to cheat the other, and make as much money as possible. He was one of those people who turn away and then suddenly dart back at you, like a dragonfly. He was an ugly, stiff-built little devil, the sort of cock-sparrow type of man that sticks his chest out and puts his hands under his coat-tails – the type that's be a sergeant-major only they aren't tall enough.

Somewhere between deciding on the crew and the cargo, and before the compromises and quarrelling over the money; an intolerable messenger interrupted the two conversing men in the most awkward of ways, evident that he was interrupting and either which way, not wanted.

"Uh, good sire," he said hesitantly, "good sire, please may I have a minute of your time. Please good sire."

"Yes go ahead. Quickly please." Replied Mr. Eton irritated already.

"Its for Lord Dagonet.

"Well then..." said Dag slowly.

"Oh yes of course, I have here a letter for you. Uh very urgent, very urgent indeed. From my master Lord Boars." He said, rushing the odd words and stammering over the easy ones.

On this last note Dag's eyes flickered up from the candle and to the messenger, "Thank-you." The messenger promptly placed the slightly soggy and worn roll of parchment in his one hand.

Dag quickly got up and put out his hand rolled cigarette. He took a couple of steps to the door and then took some back, then around the table and put the letter down. He took out another cigarette and lit it, puffing the smoke out quickly in an exasperated manner. He tapped his food on the floor quickly, the wheels in his head turning quickly.

He turned on the heal after a slight pause and walked out of the smoky, wine stained pub, scratching the back of his head.

The letter had been requesting his presence and confidence in an external attack on the county of the Lord Boars. What exactly had happened he did not know, but he did know that Boars would not request him without a full explanation if it was not important.

He quickly got a hold of his squire who prepared his pack for the two day travel by horseback, traveling lightly and by himself. As he mounted his brown thoroughbred horse, but swayed in the seat from too much drink and remounted once he had eaten enough bread to sober himself up more or less.

As he trotted out of the city gates he waved off to an incoming young messenger. He quickly sped to a gallop and off he went into the rocky and sparse terrain.

Soooo next chapter should be on... Gawain! But only as soon as I figure something interesting or and exciting for him to do or uh embark on or be thrown into... hmm or he could be the more or less not adventurous one... which could actually be good instead of everyone suddenly going on some quest. (I'd say that's coincidental but I am the author!!!)

(I take no credit to that amazing description in the first paragraph. It's actually straight out of the novel Coming Up for Air by the ever-so-brilliant George Orwell.)


	6. Chapter 5

Riiiiiiight so since no ones reading my fic... I've got half the heart to just give up on it, but I'm not that type of person so I'm going to try and finish (argh). I think I might try something shorter and possibly funny next time... irrelevantly I'll still get no reviews.

If you are reading... then Whoop Dee Doo for you. (it rhymes feel special)

This chapter is called: Killing Gawain.

Gawain walked slowly up the charred hallway leading up to the Roman Tower with a curly blond girl of four and half years trailing closely behind him. The child never left his side, always clinging to the laces of his tall leather boots.

He sat in the center of the black circular room.

Twelve windows around the whole room, with the singed remains of the once white lace curtains moving uniformly in the cross wind. The shattered glass of the windows covered the floor.

Gawain reminisced as he looked at the pieces of glass reflecting the pink light of the setting sun.

The little girl had since been sent away and sleepily obliged.

As Gawain lay back on the floor, he felt the sharp glass cut into his body.

PAIN.

He lifted his hand and quietly watched the deep red blood drip down his arm only to stain his white chemise. He put his hand over his heart and his pupils dilated.

Thoughts raced through his mind.

Was he? Should he? Could he? Did he? No answers came. No solution came. The future hadn't come.

He was scared to be weak and susceptible. This had been the last blow. Was this it? He didn't know. He was scared and his indecisiveness scared him more.

He broke out in a cold sweat.

He had trained everyday to be strong. He had built up economically and socially. But what he hadn't prepared was his mind. Would it rot? He had let in emotion, and now it had conquered him.

He heard heavy footsteps.

He quickly jumped up, not feeling the glass, he left the room and headed down the stairway expecting to meet someone, anticipating the owner of the heavy steps. He met no one.

Yes this is angsty... only slightly... haha... have to love sarcasm. I think everyone has the right to be or feel fucked up, and a lot of people suffer silently and then put on a façade. This is what is great about writing, because you can see a different view of people, and they seem more real. More like everyone else and less plastic.

That was my uh lets just say it was my way-too-deep thought of the day, or update, whatever. Next chapter will deal with Galahad and Tristan when they return to Tristan's castle, whatever I named it.


	7. Chapter 6

I'd like to thank _chiefhow_ for (presumably) being the only person to actually read all six chapters (its all in the review hint'hint). Seeing as she did make some very good points I will try and incorporate them into my story! Meaning Tristan will say less sooo my chapters probably won't get longer (notably the ones with him in it), as he is a quote "man of few words", I figured he might have had a sarcastic side to him... I guess that was only me then! Ha!

Tristan and Galahad sat close to the cold stone of a nearby bluff providing substantial coverage and serving as their camp. From their spot they could see his Norhelen

Castel twisting out of the low clouds.

Dusk rose softly over the land, Tristan's hands lingered over the wildflowers as he meticulously planned out every possibility in his own head before opening the floor to a discussion with Galahad.

"What do you supposed?" questioned Galahad cautiously in a low whisper.

Tristan did not stir, keeping an intent gaze at the small white flowers with dainty dark green foliage.

Galahad rose, stretching his arms out behind him, "If we make a move we should do so soon or have to bear a restless night waiting for the sun to make its round again."

"I," said Tristan slowly, "want to go tonight."

"Excellent! Always looking for a good fight and then some even better women and drink! I'm sure you keep your place well stocked huh?"

Tristan shrugged his shoulders and picked the flower, rubbing it between his fingers until the petals had all fallen into the earth. He silently rose and stared unhappily at the castle. His castle. Damn Arthur. He grinned inwardly at his disregard to their legendary king.

"I don't really know where the entrance is so if you'd be so kind as to start going there..." said Galahad speaking like one would to a five year old; using lots of hand gestures, pointing towards the castle.

"Just follow me please. Keep your tongue in check, and your hands on your sword not on anything else." Replied Tristan as he began the winding descent toward the castle.

"To be certain Tristan! I swear on my mother's grave to you!" replied Galahad cheerfully, quite eager to register a pummeling.

"Your mother is still alive."

"Last time I checked to be sure! She made quite a mess of my shirt! When I came in it was black and when I left it was blue and still is! Remarkable woman."

"That's what Bors said when he visited your mother after you did, and found her in great physical shape, so I will trust that she is still alive from his glowing report." Replied Tristan winking, justly deserving the punch which Galahad delivered to his arm.

As they approached the side door of dark wood, they had quieted down, and Tristan had taken out a large old gold key from a leather band hanging from his neck. The antique key fit easily into the rusty handle and opened with a squeak.

Tristan and Galahad cautiously made their way past the noisy barracks to the throne room. Tristan wiped a hand on the wall leaving his finger prints behind. The white stone had long since been stained gray from smoke.

A number of archways led into the column strewn throne room. They twined through the flanking and darkened columns amidst the noisy arguing of the men occupying said room.

Tristan skillfully grabbed the man who was evidently the leader, holding a sharp blade to his thick neck. Galahad notched and arrow and directed it threateningly toward the remaining two men.

The leader was Crofix, a lord of the North and of Tristan. His tiny black eyes flittered back and forth between each man like a dragonfly moving from perch to perch. The two other men were unknown to either of the knights. One was tall and heavy, he had strawberry red hair and a thick beard controlled in two braids. From under his armored breast plate, a hairy stomach protruded. The second man was yet even taller, 6'5 with shoulder length dirty blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Freckles spotted his clean shaven face and he wore fine robes and leather enforcements on his lean body.

"Speak Lord Crofix. Let me see if your tongue can save you this time." Said Tristan as he pressed the blade harder against his neck causing blood to slowly escape.

Begging for his Lord's mercy, Crofix quickly revealed the titles of his visitors, the first as the Viking leader Das Vernad, and the second as the Knight of Orange of the Netherlands. He also revealed their agendas at Norhelen Castle.

"Das Vernad, that scoundrel! He tricked me! He has had his men here living off the fat of our land. They made me do it! You left me here my lord! Would you have wanted him to kill me? My blood on your hand too."

"No, I would not like to see you dead on his accord, however I have half the mind to do it myself with this very blade. Now what is he doing in my castle? Bloody foreigners." Tristan digressed.

It was then quickly revealed, with little more poking and prodding that Crufix had been building his own army in the absence of their rightful leader's presence. It was to be formed of the Vikings of Das Vernad, and of the mercenaries of the Knight of Orange. In deal, Vernad would take up settlement on the northerly coast, in proximity to the North Sea and Scandinavia of course, and the Knight of Orange could plunder and take what he wishes, granted that the title would be Crufix's. The extent to their campaign however had been undecided which was what the argument was over.

Tristan and Galahad quickly subdued their captives, and Tristan set to the tast of restoring order in his castle, leaving Galahad to deal with the three ring leaders. He found most of his old friends and protégées in the dungeons, which they then replenished with traitors including those in the throne room. The Vikings were simply locked up in their barracks.

Galahad was set up in a room with fresh clothes and food, and set to sleep. Although the late hour, Tristan sat moodily upon his throne, contemplating his situation, finally calling for conference with this Knight of Orange.

This Knight intrigued him. He had been silent the whole time, perhaps meaning he did not even speak English. He had watched him, however Tristan could not figure him out, as he had so prided in himself for such ability.

The Knight was shortly brought up. He was still in the same outfit as before, but his eyes looked sunk in but glared with the same warmth. He was brought to stand ten paces from Tristan and the attendant was dismissed; the door locked.

"Who are you?" began Tristan.

"I am the Knight of Orange."

"Who are you?" repeated Tristan; his intonation lower and relaxed.

"I am named Pietre Como. I lead the mercenaries, a mix of Franks and lone Vandals. We legendarily found work with the Romans, when we once made home in the Germanic lands east of the Rhine. A short two hundred years ago we moved west against boarders with the barbarian invasion and the expansion of the Huns. Of those to move west, we the Franks are the most numerous, we make little effort with the Angles and Saxons. No doubt they are desperate for a home somewhere." Replied Como slowly, watching his English, which was no doubt not his first language, however how he knows it will be gotten into latter.

"My name is Tristan, I am one of King Arthur's knights and I rule this desolate end of this rock (now Scotland). My people, as I am hesitant to call them, are not roman, no they were here long before me. They are the Celts, or at least a pocket of the remaining ones. Enough about me, why are you here?"

"We were paid quite handsomely for our services to Lord Crufix."

"Why are you here?" repeated Tristan amused.

"You are quite wise." said Como chuckling "We have had an agreement if you would call it, with the Viking Das Vernad. We were to, in the fight; take our money and leave, supposedly. The agreement was that we would kill Crufix and what loyal troops he has leaving Vernad as this Lord. In return, we would get or how would you say it, but this would negotiate the safe return of a very valuable asset of ours."

"What do you mean?"

"Mercenaries may kill whomever they are paid to, but we will not kill each other. The values of brotherhood and bonds stand very high."

Tristan had underestimated them. Here he had thought they were just cold killing machines, but they were more similar to himself than he had imagined. They were ruthless killers when they had to be, such as his life bond as a Sarmatian Knight for the Roman Empire, yet they respected each other above all others, the parallels were uncanny.

"You will dine with me to' morrow, when we have both rested properly."

The Knight of Orange was given one of the nicest rooms in the castle, right next to that of the slumbering Sir Galahad.

Tristan himself recoiled to his chambers, thinking and ever thinking.

DunDunDun... what will happen? Who will survive? Who will get kicked off the cliff? Find out when I update next!! Lol. Kicks. I'm going to leave this one like that. It'll be continued of course but the next chapter will be with Dagonet meeting up with Boars to fight the pirates!!! Muahaha. (yes they will meet up! Damn spoiler... grr)


	8. Chapter 7

NEXT CHAPTER IS UP! So please review and uh I'll say thank-you or something. So Dag and Boars meet up and formulate a plan! Read away! I end everything with a exclamation point! I'm really hyper!

After two days of travel by horseback, Sir Dagonet arrived at the doors to Sir Bors' stronghold. The exhausted Lord collapsed into a deep sleep for three days. Sleep however only lasted for two, the last day Dag speant in a half asleep, half awake dream walking and resting, and sitting and dancing in his suit.

Lord Bors, Lord Dagonet and the lesser Lords of the South congregated together at the rectangular table in the Green Room. Bors sat at the head and Dag in the seat of honor opposite to him. Five lords flanked them and the group was completed by the presence of Christopher Darcy.

"The matter at hand is that our lands are at threat of corsairs. Geographically speaking," began Bors as he rolled out a large map of Western Europe and Northern Africa, "they are probably coming from the seaboard of Algiers. Since the real threat is from the Barbary Coast, these may be wayward ships, all the same though still very dangerous, we do not need them to raid anymore of our settlements."

"Did see the bodies?" asked the oldest man. He was a blind cryptic bag of bones, but one of the wisest men in Britain, he was Lord Crownan. His question was directed to young Mr. Darcy.

"Yes.", managed the trembling Darcy.

"Did you see the blood?" the man asked.

"Yes."

"Did you see any dead men?"

"My father."

"No doubt he was old. Did you see none more your age?"

"No."

"Exactly.", he seemed to conclude as he now seemed to turn his attention to the rest of the table, "Corsairs do not kill. They take prisoners; slaves for their ships. Those that don't die at the oar however, are taken to the Bagnio."

A lull fell over the group as the old man continued with his talk.

"I was there once. For a long time. Five years I was held prisoner in that complex. It was like an enclosed town, with its own shops and taverns, but don't let that paint a pretty picture for you. I had a lifetime of hard labor ahead of me, I was lucky enough to escape though by bribing a guard, not that you lot would understand what is worth not having wine for three years. I had to give up my god for it too, I'm not called a took of a Turk for nothing. It is a life I would wish upon no one.", he had now raised himself to his full height, supporting it with a tall staff.

Darcy just gaped, his mouth not making up its mind whether to speak or shut up.

"Then all the more reason to get them! I strongly suggest that we send ships after the corsairs to get back our people!", said one of the lord, Lord Branen to be exact, with a forceful pound of his fist on the table.

"Here here!" agreed Lord Lillance raising his glace of wine.

"Privateers... possibly." started Lord Bors slowly.

"They'd never make it.", stated Lord Crownan in quite a matter of fact manner.

"Old man they are young not like you!" said Lord Branen angrily.

"They are green then, I was like that too once upon a time. Those go first. Do not think that I have not considered that. An insult to my own virtue! I have not lived for the likes of you to tell me such lies."

All eyes ashamed became suddenly remarkably interested in the table.

"We should set up a trap. If they are still in the vicinity, we will want to catch them and dispose of this petulance." where the first words to escape Dag's mouth for days.

"Very good. Now we are getting somewhere!" said Bors chuckling like his usual self again, "We will set up bait, here in this little hamlet. I want hidden ships posted in the small bays surrounding it."

"I would be honored to supply ships." Dag quickly chirped in.

"Thank-you, and we will all be there in the hamlet. Good strong fighting men too, to be set as sentries."

"All of us?", said Darcy stupidly, although not being the only one there thinking it.

"Yes."

"But they will take me!", he protested. He had lost his brave front and was now no more than a child; scared.

"Most certainly not. You are in safe hands now.", said Bors laying a hearty smack on Darcy's back.

Within seven days, the trap was complete. Now all they had to do was sit and wait. Bors was commander on land, in charge of the troops, and Dag was commander to the nautical forces. His longboats had shallow draft to easily unload men, and his other ships were similar to small galleons, had rams on the nose in case of on-water fighting, but then again, his fleet only consisted of four boats so it was not close to as impressive as a description may give. His other ships were in indispensable, needed in his own county.

The men sat for another seven days in an immense heat; waiting and waiting. Dag paced his boat, seeing odd things. His crew was working, but he wondered, had they always been so skinny as for him to see their bones? To him the water was orange and his hair was a large spider that on the fifth day he started fighting with. He pulled at its eight legs trying to stop it from feeding off his brain. He yelled that if he killed it, it would also rain. He was quickly tied up and left to rest in the covered canopy at the high stern.

On the seventh day, they got their wish; RAIN. Thunderous rain pounded the decks for a day and a night. By dusk the rain had lifted. It was drizzling lightly, when over the horizon, coming forward racing before the sun, the silhouettes of two galleys, hidden on a black sky, made their way slowly toward the hamlet in the late hours of night. In the dark night the galleys were not to be seen.

OK! Another chapter down! Not that anyone cares... but I do a little ï so this chapter was kinda boring in my opinion but it obviously means that there will be excitement in the next chapters to come!!! Next chapter will be about Gawain... he's my angst-filled character ï


	9. Chapter 8

This is just quick and short. School's a bummer and all my classes are wrong. I'm in a bad mood. Haha. Cheers! I'm kinda going for the fairy tale effect for the Gawain story part.

Killing Gawain Part II

Gawain's new flavor could not even awake him from his depression. The dark roman woman sulked most of the day in her own private quarters. She despised the fact that Gawain had not come to her, even just to talk. She didn't like the fact that he spent more time with the little blond girl, what time he did spend with her. She had watched them. He would sit in his chair and watch his daughter as she played with this toy or that toy. She would have left him long ago if he was not a lord. He was Lord Gawain.

Gawain had avoided his mistress since the incident. He knew that now she expected him to marry him, but although he loved her, his heart was not in it. She was beautiful, witty and talented, but he wanted something else. He wanted real romance. Perhaps he had only been previously attracted to her since he was already attached, making her a thrill to him. He wanted her gone.

He had her burned as a witch. He felt no remorse, he felt nothing. He felt almost betrayed.

He wanted to feel alive. He wanted to laugh and yell and dance.

None could please him. And none would he talk to past the initial addresses causing the many courtiers to find him quite disagreeable and quiet, but this did not bother Gawain. If he wanted to comment then he would, but whenever he resolved to talk to whomever he was supposed to meet, he would find himself staring off into beautiful oblivion, rendering his guests even more offended.

His closest friend and advisor, a man by the name of Sir Christopher Bradley, frustrated and concerned himself for Gawain, sent out a proclamation handsomely rewarding the man or woman, from his own pocket, whom could successfully lift the Lord's mood, and not just for one night. A period of seven successive nights would precede the winner, the winner being allowed to range from doctor to peasant, from servant to King Arthur himself.

Next chapter's on Tristan and Galahad lets see where they go off to! A little more exciting for a change, hopefully, I forget what's supposed to happen cause I forget the story. It'll come back to me when I open Microsoft word. Lol. Or when I stop being lazy sooo.... Sure that'll happen.... Haha.


	10. Chapter 9

I much more prefer to describe those sections of the stories which actually hold little importance in the light of forming an actual plot, meaning my forte is certainly not these action filled whatnots, they piss me off to write. That's why my little Gawain sub-story is much more fun, well not necessarily fun but uh fulfilling if that makes any sense to my multitudes of readers. Lol. WELL something has to happen to Tristan and Galahad, but what is it?? Find out.

If this was a typical fanfic story, you would be guaranteed that the P.O.V. would switch to a remarkably beautiful O.C. who would have been a prisoner in the castle, previously sent there by Tristan for her remarkable fighting skills but due to her loyalties was imprisoned. Another possibility is that she was one of the mercenary knights. Or that she is revealed to be female after hiding in a knight's costume. Buuut no. This would be a rare fic. where against all odds, there are more male O.C.s than female ones. AMAZING NO??

Tristan easily solved his issues at the castle (not necessarily easily, but simply would be more apt a word), leaving just formalities to write about. In a nutshell he sent the Vikings and Das Vernad on their merry way to invade some other country but only after the agreement with him and the Knigts of Orange had settled their differences. Seeing as Tristan had taken an obvious partiality to the mercenaries, he had it settled much to the general contentment of both sides based on their prior arrangements, meaning that Crufix was to be killed by the mercenaries. As planned, however under substantially different circumstances, Crufix was decapitated by the Knight, and was buried in a nameless grave with the sword and the bloody leather glove used in doing of the deed. And in concern to the Viking position in Britain, Tristan replaced Crufix, his position as lord, with one of the Vikings. Since the Vikings really had little choice in the matter, this turned out relatively well for them, seeing as their only other option was nothing or death.

Since, technically their agreement was fulfilled; the Vikings had to return their unknown captive to the Franks.

"Give him back!" was all they had to say.

Tristan had by this time adopted the small army of two score dangerous men into his before relatively empty castle. They set up for a week of festivities for the upcoming return of their reveled prisoner.

On the last night, while they were casually drinking, awaiting the arrival of said prisoner, Tristan asked out loud, "Who is this prisoner? Why is he so great?"

Pietre Como, the Knight of Orange, almost spat out his red wine. "Wonders you have not asked till now!" after he composed himself. "Purio and Parlionne, my younger siblings are coming. Surely you have heard of them! They are legendary. Lost were they for fifteen years, some said they had been kidnapped by the Japanese, changed for the fairies, made kings of the savages. It is lore. When they returned to us they would not talk of their travels. Some suggest they rode around the world on their pair of gray horses, some suggested that they raised them in the Pine Forest. Haha, no one knows for now. Well, when they returned we had a feast, and at the end they fell asleep and could not be waken. While taking them to the witch, they were kidnapped, and helpless. Word reached us that they were being held by the Vikings. And we had to have them back. Two warriors such as them." He sighed, and the rest of the room which had been listening now sighed as well.

"Look! Lights!", one knight jumped up pointing out the tall windows of the hall.

Lights there were, thousands of tiny lights floating in the dark.

The men quickly ran to the entrance. Tristan, right infront. When he threw open the doors however, the lights were gone. No blinding glare in his eyes, no feeling of relief of finally figuring out this great enigma of a person. Nothing at all. No warmth, no wind. The stale air stood still as if challenging Tristan to make the first move.

Tristan blinked. He looked around slowly at his men, still standing within the threshold, half expecting them to be stone.

He called out "Who is it that walks on my land?"

His only reply was the whispers of the wind.

He called out again "Who is it that dares travels where in the darkest land?"

His only reply was the soft hooting of an owl.

He called out for the third time "Who is it that will not show themselves in the only light this night will provide?"

This time, there was no reply.

AN. After a long wait... I have updated... and I totally know what I'm doing! I had a dream... this is actually true so no laughing! I might re-post this one and make it abit longer latter. Stay tuned, don't wear it out.


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